Beginnings
by Saturdaychick
Summary: I've been asked for a bit of a back story for Raphael. Here it is!


**Beginnings**

The woman bent down and shoved the bundle closer. What looked like a bunch of rags, was, in fact, a 5 year old boy. Eduardo stared disdainfully down. Then, the tall, imposing, bearded gypsy turned back to the woman. "What am I to do with that," he gestured at the boy, as the boy stood, waiting to see what fate now had in store for him.  
"I'm not a babysitter, Madame. Nor do I want to be. I suppose I could feed him to the dogs…" he laughed, cruelly. The boy cringed.  
"He'll earn his keep," said the woman. "Better for you than for me. His mother died owing me rent. She was one of you. He's your blood. Besides…he has skills that will prove useful to you."  
"Useful? He's a runt, not fit for hard work like cutting wood or keeping the animals. What are these so called skills?"  
"Go on, Raphael, show this man what you can do. Sing that song for him".  
Raphael, 5 years old, with olive skin, dark eyes and black, unkempt, curls, stood, pulling the ragged cloak tighter, and began to sing. It was a gypsy lullaby. Eduardo hated to admit it, but it was unearthly.  
Someone else had taken interest in this scene. A young, red haired gypsy girl peered around the corner of one of the caravans and watched, holding her breath.  
When the boy finished, the woman looked at Eduardo, "I don't suppose you'll pay me anything for him."  
"Pay you!" he laughed, "I'm taking him off your hands. Isn't that enough. Now, move on, before I set the dogs on you."  
The woman swore and then disappeared into the night. Eduardo turned back to Raphael. He could see coins before his eyes. This boy could be a money maker for him.  
But now what? He didn't know how to care for a child, nor did he want to. "I assume you'll want food, but hear me, boy, I'll feed you and give you a corner to sleep in, but you will work for me. Understand. You will sing for people. People with money. They'll pay to hear that voice."  
Raphael wasn't sure what Eduardo wanted from him, but he had been taught some manners from an old lady who used to live in the room next to the one he and his mother had… he suppressed a sob at the thought of her. "Yes, sir", he said, softly.  
Just then, the red-haired girl crept out from where she'd been hidden.  
"Eduardo, I can help look after him."  
"You? Why? What will Wolf say about that? I'm not paying you, so get that thought out of your head."  
"Wolf won't care. He lets me do as I please. He loves me" she smirked.  
"Love? Ha! Wolf's a fool. We all told him so when he insisted on marrying an outsider. He spoils you. If you were mine…" he looked darkly at her, his eyes roaming her curves.  
"I'd never be yours," she laughed, her voice musical to Raphael's ears. "I only consented to marry Wolf because I was tired of the orphan home and ran away. He promised me adventure, but he lied. All I got was this camp, a life on the road and less to eat than they fed me at the home."  
"Why stay then," Eduardo spat.  
"Because I know Wolf would kill for me. I'm safe with him. Now, I can clean this boy and find him some better clothes. I know songs, too. I can teach him."  
"Go on, then. If you can feed him some scraps, so much the better." And he left them and went to check his horses.

"Your name is Raphael? I heard that lady call you that. I'm Ginger. Come. We'll get you clean, and I can sew. I can make over some of Wolf's old clothes for you. I'll teach you some songs. Ones I've heard around the camp. I can sing, alright, but you, you have the voice of an angel. Did you know that?"  
Raphael hadn't had anyone say so much to him since his mother died. And even she was resentful sometimes and called him a burden. Then she got sick. And he was alone.  
"Too bad it's Eduardo that lady gave you to. Now he sees you as a way to get more coins. He's a brute. I've seen him kick his dogs and whip his horses when they don't do just as he likes or when he's been drinking. Keep out of his way as much as you can. That's my advice. I'll look out for you when I'm able. I do the washing and cooking for Wolf. He's kind. Handsome, too. Not at all like Eduardo." She smiled at Raphael. "Raphael's a mouthful. I'm going to call you Rafe. Ok?"  
She led Rafe to a large yellow caravan with blue trimming. Two black and white horses were tethered nearby. A border collie yelped and stood at the entrance to the caravan. Ginger brushed him, aside, and sat Rafe on a pile of colorful cushions. "Wait here. I'm going to heat some water and give you a bath." She unearthed a large copper bathtub, and brought it outside, setting it alongside the back wheels of the cart. "It's more private, there" she said. Meanwhile, Rafe curled into the soft cushions and by the time the water was heated, Ginger found him fast asleep. "Poor little thing" she murmured. Not wanting the hot water to go to waste, she grabbed a towel, stripped off her clothes, and settled into the warm water. The stars up ahead could tell your future, she'd heard some of the women say. For now, her life was here, as it had been for the last two years. She was 17 now, and married, more or less, to Wolf, who had found her lurking round the camp one night, and fell in love with her right then and there. He treated her like a lady, much to the disdain of the others in the camp. He liked that she was smart and could read and write and that she could also sew and cook were bonuses. If she left him, it would break his heart. But one day, she would look to the stars and see what they held in store for her. One day, she might follow them to that adventure she hoped to find.

Meanwhile… in another part of France, in Paris, 5 stories below the Opera House … a man sat at an organ and composed. He set down his pen and leaned on his hands, his eyes far away. He was thinking of the girl who captivated his heart, his pupil, who one day would take center stage and bring the audience to its feet with cheers. Who would one day…be his. Before she came into his life he was content to live alone. But not now. Because, if he couldn't possess her love, really, there might be nothing worth living for. 


End file.
